


Probation

by Hufflepuffsanonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hufflepuffsanonymous/pseuds/Hufflepuffsanonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is hired as a Healer at St. Mungo's, but she must pass a three month probationary period before she can be an official Healer. A lot can happen in three months, especially when a certain ex-Death Eater also works at the hospital and a meddlesome Hufflepuff and even more meddlesome Slytherin get involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Die Somnis

**Author's Note:**

> This story is already completely written and totals a little over 117k words. I'm editing it and uploading as I go. The first version can be found on ff net. The first chapter is very short, but the rest average about 7k each. I'm pretty proud of this as it was my first ever multi-fic work. That being said, I know it's far from perfect and feedback is always appreciated.  
> Also, please note that there are scenes of a sexually explicit nature and lots of swearing in this fic. Also, I have a very present and spirited narrator (warning because this bothers some people, but I will not be changing this aspect of the story).

# Probation

# Chapter One: _Die somnis_

It was a cloudy September morning like any other on the small overpopulated island that this story situates itself or, more accurately, in the small overcrowded city that this story situates itself. That is to say, people were bustling around not at all pleased with their surroundings, it was a tad too cold, there was an awful ruckus from taxis, cars, and buses alike, and the smell…don’t get me started on the smell. Let’s instead focus on the protagonist of this story.

A young woman sporting a tight brown bun, long, unflattering white robes (akin to that of a scientist), black sneakers, and a determined expression approached a condemned red brick department store with an off-kilter mannequin in the window. The woman smiled at the mannequin and wished it a good morning. An old man walking by stared at her in confusion and shook his head muttering about youth these days and something about “reefer”. The young witch, for indeed she was a witch, smiled softly at the old man and walked through the window of the department store into the lobby of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This witch breathed in the pungent scent of medicinal potions and acrid burns that filled the pandemonium of the immaculate white lobby with a smile of determination on her face; this witch was none other than Hermione Granger.

Yes, Hermione Granger; the famous ‘smart’ one from the ‘Golden Trio’; without her Harry and Ron would not have vanquished Voldemort let alone passed first year, the one who had a misguided hard-on for one Ronald Weasley, the one who habitually forgets that she is indeed a witch, the one who had an illicit fling with the very famous and much less handsome Victor Krum, the one who always knows the answer, the “brightest witch of her age”, and yes, the one with a ghastly tangle of curls. And this little knows-too-much-for-her-own-good was nervous.

Today she started as a fully licenced Healer specialising in memory charms and battle wounds. Yes, it was an odd specialisation, Healers Adams and Boyd, under whom she studied for three years, both found the combination very ‘interesting’ and would have long heated discussions behind closed doors about Hermione’s chosen combination of study. Healers Adams and Boyd both believed that no one knew about their tendency to fuck one another senseless in their offices—of course everyone and their owl knew, but it was so much more fun to watch them sneaking around thinking that they were the most secretive people on earth.

I digress; Healer Hermione crossed the lobby avoiding a tired looking man who kept hiccupping fire and a toddler with tentacles instead of legs suction-cupped to the floor. She navigated her way around the Welcome Witch whose blindingly bright smile promised to be far too helpful for Hermione to stomach. She nodded her head at the receptionists Rupert and Lynda—one young and wide and the other old and slender—who both waved back distractedly as they filled out forms and reassured patients. Once in the staff lift, which required wand authentication to enter, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as quiet jazz filled her ears. She re-arranged her white robes so that, if possible, they hung even more unattractively on her thin frame and touched her forearm to ensure that her wand holster was still holding her wand.

Then she began to pace. One thing that Hermione would never understand was the wizard lift system: _how was it that it took so long to operate? And for that matter, why model the wizard lift system after a Muggle invention?_ Her pacing sped up. _Could wizards not think of a more time effective way to traverse from one level to the next? Not to mention blood prejudice; why copy Muggles at all?_ She was practically running from one side of the lift to the other (although that really isn’t saying much considering it was only 6 feet wide). _And for that matter how have wizards not yet invented_ —Her train of thought was interrupted by the lift stopping at level three and Healer Adams walking in.

“Hermione! Congratulations again, I am so thrilled that you’re going to be joining our floor. For a while I thought you were going to go abroad, and, well, that would have been just devastating!” exclaimed Amy.

Yes, her name is Amy Adams like the actress—get over it. And yes, I am an active narrator, if you don’t like it, abandon ship now; it only gets worse.

“You can finally eat lunch with us in the staff room. I just find it ridiculous that they don’t allow HITs to eat with us. What’s going to happen? You’re going to poison us?!” Her booming laugh drowned out Hermione’s nervous silence and the uplifting jazz music. “Well maybe on the third floor!” She laughed again nudging Hermione in the arm. “Get it? Cause it’s the third floor, where…”

Healer Adams was a curious creature. She, for all intents and purposes, resembled an ‘average’ woman; white, brownish-blondish shoulder-length straight hair, light brown eyes, 5’6”, soft shoulders, boobs, ass, some teeth—you get the picture. Except that she almost never stopped talking. Once, while replacing the intestines of a victim of a rather nasty rogue Death Eater attack, she had a full conversation about what she was going to cook for dinner that night (Spaghetti was too common, but maybe with that nice rosé from the store down the block owned by that lovely Jamaican couple who moved here back in ’95 and had two kids who went to the nearest public school which was surprisingly “quite good” despite the area and the general lack of caring that most teachers have, public schools are really underrated these days!). She also had the fortune of being named Amy Adams, so everyone loved her on sight. Once when she dyed her hair people actually thought that she was _the_ Amy Adams. But alas, she was only a measly Healer of all things curse related specialising in battle injuries. Back to the story:

The lift doors finally dinged open and a pleasant voice said, “Fourth floor: Spell Damage” saving Hermione from having to fake laugh along with Amy. Hermione was so nervous she felt like she was going to be sick. Instead, she reminded herself that she was one third of the reason that Voldemort was dead. Hermione squared her shoulders took a deep breath and exited the lift. She walked past the small reception desk—“Morning Clara!”—and down the shiny white hallway lined with deep purple doors to patients and visitors rooms and into the “Healers Only” hallway toward her new tiny office. While they made their way through the sterile hallways, Amy prattled on about a recent movie that she had seen (Amy was a half-blood), “A Knight’s Tale”. Sounded half-decent to Hermione, but she was a sucker for a good medieval romance.

“Well, er, thanks for walking me to my new office, Amy,” Hermione said cutting her off as she began to open the door. “I guess I’m going to start looking through my inbox to see what assignments need to be done.”

As her purple office door clicked open Hermione jumped back in fright as literally twenty people crammed in her tiny office screamed “Congratulations!” at her.

Hermione’s battle instincts came back in full force and she was pointing her wand at the large group of people in front of her who were congratulating themselves on their coordination skills in pulling this off while her heart raced a mile a minute. Healer Boyd lowered Hermione’s wand for her, laughing as she squeezed out of the Hermione’s office.

“Glad to see that no one will be able to use the element of surprise on you, Hermione. Don’t worry; none of us are going to attack you,” Boyd reassured her.

Healer Jennifer “Jenn” Boyd differed from the classic ‘average’ narrative in that she was of Japanese descent, tall and broad, had long black hair and green eyes (and, of course, all the other body parts that most people have). She never spoke much, but when she did it was always worth listening to. Jenn specialised in the removal and application of memory charms and, of her two mentors, was Hermione’s favourite; Amy’s prattling could get annoying.

Jenn smiled and glanced at Amy then pointedly looked down the hallway. The two women disappeared into Amy’s office as the crowd began to thin, shaking Hermione’s hand and welcoming her to the team as they went. “Thank you,” Hermione repeated again and again, her heart still racing and her brain still scanning the area for an attack. Hermione shook the hand of her boss last, Healer Ackley Bonham, a large stout Indian man with more grey hairs than not and a large pair of glasses on his even larger nose.

“Hermione, my dear, I am very happy that you’re joining us. Please make sure to send me a memo if you have any questions, dear. As discussed, dear, you will continue to be secondary assistant to Healers Adams and Boyd during your probationary period of three months,” (three months was the standard probationary period at St. Mungo’s, however seeing as Hermione obtained her Healer certification there she found it a bit redundant to have to do a probationary period since they knew her capabilities—that’s bureaucracy for you) “but I know that you will be unfogging minds and restarting hearts on your own in no time, my dear. Yes indeed!” Healer Bonham hobbled away to the end of the long white hallway and into his massive office.

What he really did on the floor, no one really knew—although one of the favourite past times of the employees when there were no patients was guessing what Old Bonham got up to all day, the running favourite was that he was actually a retired interpretive dancer who relived the days of his youth by looking through the photo album contained in the top left drawer of his mahogany desk, the tutu was also a dead giveaway. However he did always have a large box of sugar quills on his desk, so that was something.

Hermione tried to calm her racing heart as she gingerly closed her door behind her, fearing that someone was still hiding beneath her desk. After ensuring that her 8x5 was in fact empty with the help of a few charms, she began to cast a few more standard protective spells around her office, you know just to make sure no one could enter without her knowing or without her permission, that no noise would filter in through from the hallway, that no noise would filter into the hallway from her office—unless she wanted it to—that if one of her good friends came to visit and she wasn’t there she would automatically be alerted via her wand of their presence, she also installed a note pad and drop box for any memos, a temperature regulator—you know, just the standard spells.

Hermione sat down at her mostly empty desk (she had some things magically sent over, including a photo of herself, Ron, and Harry) and took a deep breath. “You can do this,” she said aloud. Hermione stood and headed toward the mailroom to see if anything had come in for her today. An armload of rolled parchment in one hand, she headed toward the operations and appointments wall adjacent to the mail room and read it over to see what today held in store for her. Performing a complex looking wand motion, Hermione made a holographic copy of her appointments with the aid of her wand. She then set her wand alarm to go off ten minutes before each appointment and waved her wand, making the schedule disappear. Hermione nodded after having completed her daily ritual and headed back to her office, her practical running shoes squeaking slightly with each step.

x-x-x

“I know that you’re technically still under observation-only status during week one,” whispered Jennifer as she tied her long hair back into a ponytail, “but I know that you can handle this: it’s a simple memory wipe that we do every week to the Muggle working across the street from us, Paul, he owns the coffee shop. Poor soul always sees people walking through the window at the entrance to the hospital from Muggle London. You haven’t met him yet since you usually spent Tuesdays with Amy. He uses the entrance for Muggles at the back of the building and never sees any magic on his visits, so make sure that he does not see your wand.” Hermione nodded. “Now remember, we want these to seem like daydreams and not completely remove them because that is far more dangerous.”

“Yes, I know, Jenn,” snapped Hermione as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“Take a breath, Hermione. I’m here to help.”

“Sorry, I’m just—”

“Nervous?” She nodded. “You have no reason to be. You are by far the best memory specialist I have met, aside from myself of course.” Jennifer smiled and placed a reassuring arm on her shoulder before opening the door to the patient room. 

            “Good morning, Mr. O’Brien,” smiled Hermione, all signs of nerves gone. “How are you feeling today?”

            Paul O’Brien, an old bald headed black man, looked up at her with a worried expression. “Who’s this, Dr. Boyd?” the man nodded his head at Hermione.

“This is heal—Doctor Granger, Mr. O’Brien, she’s a fully licensed doctor; I’m just here to make sure her transition to our hospital is smooth.”

O’Brien nodded. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Granger.”

“You as well, Mr. O’Brien. I believe you’re due for another injection?”

O’Brien nodded slowly. “I—I’m seeing them again.”

            “Of course, Mr. O’Brien. Thank you for coming in today. It’ll only be a second.” Hermione began to prepare a prop needle that they used in Muggle situations to explain away the magic. “And how are you sleeping Mr. O’Brien?”

            “Quite well, actually. Slept all through the night this past week,” he said proudly.

Hermione deftly began the modified obliviate spell, _die somnis_ , while asking Paul about his shop. Once she finished the spell Paul closed his eyes and seemed to faint for a moment. Hermione glanced at Jenn who reassured her with a smile. Paul’s eyes blinked open a few seconds later.

“The needle gets me every time. Faint like a little boy at the sight of my crush,” Paul laughed and heaved himself to his feet. “Well thanks again, ladies. You have yourselves a lovely day!” And without another word he walked out of St Mungo’s thinking he had just left a small health clinic.

Hermione beamed. Usually she had trouble carrying on a conversation while completing spells, but not today!

“Hermione that was amazing! Well done. This probationary period is going to be great for me; I won’t have to do anything for three months! You know, I’ve always wanted to take up knitting,” Jenn joked as the two women left the patient room and headed toward the private hallway containing their offices.  

Hermione sighed in relief as she closed her door to her office and filled out the paperwork of her first solo patient. She magically made a copy and stuck it to the wall with a wave of her wand. The other copy she put into her filing cabinet in the back corner of her too white office.

  _It really is_ too _white in here_ , she thought. Suddenly she was struck by a rather clever idea. During her Healer training she had read a book about perception charms and how they relate to memory, _but maybe…_

Hermione waved her wand a few times in what resembled the shape of a lion (yes, it was a tricky manoeuver to pull off) and the walls turned to a lovely burgundy with bright gold trim, what could she say, she was a Gryffindor through and through. But here is the clever bit: the perception filter would allow anyone who walked in to see whatever colour they desired. In fact, she could change the colour any time that she wanted. The spell reminded her of how Harry described the mirror of Erised combined with the Room of Requirement; hopefully her office would not end up like the mirror or the Room of Requirement. _I wonder how long the charm will last_ , she thought, making a note of the date and attaching it to the wall with another casual flick of her wand.

Hermione Granger really did seem to be the smartest witch of her age. However, several times in the following months Hermione Granger’s intelligence would for once—outside of Professor Snape’s potions class—come into question.

 

 


	2. Heaven, Hell, and Somwhere in Between

# Chapter Two: Heaven, Hell, and Somewhere in Between

            It was not until Hermione was standing in the HIT (Healer in Training) lunchroom armed with her beaded bag trying to find her usual lunch partner that she remembered that she now had access to the Healer staff lounge on the opposite end of the fifth floor. _The_ spacious and much coveted Healer staff room with Hogwarts-esque chairs and floating trays of pumpkin pasties and ever-hot tea pots with too many choices of tea to choose from, not to mention the small library in the back corner of fiction and non-fiction medical books. Rumour had it that there were even some Muggle books crammed onto the overpopulated shelves. Another rumour had it that Terrance Avery, a known relative of the famous Death Eater Tom Avery, could been seen from time to time spiriting away a copy of said Muggle books, or so Amy claimed.

            Hermione waved her wand in front of the door in a circular motion and the door swung open for her. Hermione thought that the Healer staff room would be just like the HIT lunch room or the general public’s tea room; table and chairs, a sink, a fridge, some counter space and a lot of old magazines, plus, of course, the touted bookcase. She figured that the overblown stories that Amy told her were just that; stories. For once, she was happy to be wrong. Let’s just say that there was not just one, but several chandeliers hanging from the magically augmented ceilings. While the rest of the building was concrete, this room appeared to be made out of marble and had two large walls of cathedral style windows letting in the gloomy light from the rainstorm still taking place outside. In front of the windows ran two large purple couches. A large fireplace with a black mantle dominated the third wall and was surrounded by small tables and several chairs that Hermione believed were actually stolen from Hogwarts ( _Was that a crest in the bottom corner?_ ) they looked so identical and comfortable. A few mahogany dining tables filled in the part of the room closet to the –Hermione did a double take—there was a mini kitchen! Seriously; an oven, a sink, a large fridge, a microwave ( _How on earth did they get a microwave to work with all of this magic floating in the air?_ ), a coffee machine, an espresso machine, a kettle, several cupboards with glass doors revealing hundreds of tea cups and different types of tea. And in the far corner, _the_ bookcase. Hermione nearly fainted.

            “There you are!” exclaimed Ernie Macmillan walking over to Hermione with a smile on his face. Ernie was a stout sandy blond Hufflepuff prefect from Hermione’s year at Hogwarts who, despite his overwhelming pompousness, was generally an alright guy. Ernie specialised in Magical Maladies and their vaccination.

            “I…I…” She babbled still trying to comprehend the overwhelming marvelousness of the staff room. A floating tray bumped into her arm, poured her a strong cup of tea with one milk and nudged itself at her until she took a precautious sip. “It’s the perfect temperature,” she said shakily. She set the tea cup back onto the floating tray.

            Ernie smiled and lead her over to an armchair near the roaring fire. “I know.”

            They both stared at each other for a moment in wonder, then broke out laughing. “This is amazing!” The two exclaimed at the same time.

            “I just can’t believe the book case. It’s more magnificent than I could have imagined. Amy said it was only two bookshelves, but there are at least six! And look how overflowing they are—”

            “Bet that drives you nutters, Granger.”

            “Well, yes actually, in fact, with a simple extension charm I should be able to—” Hermione realised suddenly that it was not from Ernie that the preceding statement had come. She looked up at Draco Malfoy who was towering above her with a smirk on his face.

            Draco Malfoy: tall, short messy bleach blond hair—but longer than it was in school—, pale as a vampire, thin (but who knows how he really looked under all those robes?), pointed noise, and white robes that somehow flattered his frame; ex-bully, ex-death eater, current who-gives-a-shit-about-that-asshole-anymore, and now fully licenced Healer specialised in injuries caused by potions, Draco Malfoy.

Draco quickly moved out of her line of vision and sat down in the armchair closest to the fire and to Ernie, Mack, as he called him—dare I say it—affectionately. Hermione looked back at the book case trying to not let Draco’s appearance sour her mood. He usually didn’t even acknowledge her presence, _Odd_.

“Yes, with a simple extension charm the books would all fit on the shelf. Then I could organise them by subject and author…” Hermione trailed off thinking about the best way to sort the books and was halfway through an undetectable extension charm before she realised that she had left her seat.

            Mack was chuckling from his probably-stolen-from-Hogwarts luxury armchair near the fire. Hermione looked back at him briefly before returning her attention to the tragedy of a book case before her. In less than three minutes every book had a place on the shelf and each section was labelled for easy retrieval. Amy was right, there were several Muggle books, and, Hermione noted, they were all sappy romance novels centred on hospitals. She made a note to donate some older books from her personal collection that she already had more than one copy of. Hermione opened her beaded bag and _accioed_ her roast beef sandwich and pumpkin pasties from the unending depths. She grabbed a book at random and headed over to the long couch in front of the window. Too absorbed in the first few pages of _Most common magical maladies and how to prevent them_ by Glenda Wiggins to notice the many plush pillows lining the ten foot couch nor the various throw blankets. She also did not notice Ernie and Draco talking about her a few feet away.

“Honestly when that woman’s reading she wouldn’t even notice if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose from the dead and was parading around naked,” chuckled Ernie.

Draco scrunched his face at the image of the Dark Lord naked, _did he even have genitals?_ “Some people never change, Mack,” Draco stated glancing at Hermione’s back, neck bent over her book intently.

Ernie looked back at Draco intensely for a moment. “And some people do,” he said firmly. Ernie then changed his tone and asked how Draco’s morning was. Draco grunted in response. “Hermione is too busy reading a book to notice my presence and you refuse to talk to me. I need to make new friends,” Ernie sulked. He poured himself another glass of tea and began eating some of the cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches that were also floating around the room on trays.

He sighed in content and watched Draco primly prepare himself a cup of steaming earl grey tea, black, as usual. Ernie relaxed into the couch, extremely happy that he was finally allowed in the Healer staff lounge, and, he decided, he was never going to leave.

x-x-x

            Hermione’s wand alarm jerked her out of her reading about Spattergroit and how it was more common than most people thought—always wash your elbows! She flicked open her pocket watch and saw that it had already been a full hour. Hermione quickly looked around her and noticed that Ernie (surprisingly) and Draco (thankfully) were nowhere in sight. She scampered to her feet replacing the book to its new found home and rushing to the staff elevator to her next appointment for the day.

x-x-x

            Having a few spare minutes between appointments, Hermione could be found at her desk writing a letter to the editor of _The_ _Daily Prophet_ , Lavender Brown, and _The Quibbler_ , Luna Lovegood. Although Hermione would be seeing them both that Friday, she wanted communication for this particular project of hers to be official seeing as she was going to represent the hospital itself.

            _To the editor in chief,_

_I am writing this letter to inform you of my interest in pioneering an educational medical column on behalf of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on a bi-monthly basis. This column would include helpful tidbits of information about spells and potions that can eliminate visits to the hospital as well as keep the wizarding populace aware of new developments and inventions within the medical community. I would also be interested in sharing information about Muggle medicine as I feel knowledge is an important step in acceptance of the Muggle community within the wizarding one. This column would be free of charge on behalf of St Mungo’s Hospital._

_I hope to hear from you soon,_

_Hermione Granger_

            Hermione was very excited about the idea of becoming a columnist and was somewhat surprised when Amy told her that Bonham had approved her project proposal shortly after leaving Hermione’s office earlier that morning. Unfortunately she would not be compensated for her new creative pursuits, but knowing that she was helping people was enough for Hermione (not to mention the fact that the Ministry had paid herself, Ron, and Harry more than enough money to live happily for the rest of her life). Hermione already had a few ideas for her first article; it would either include diagrams on spells to heal bruises or information about Dragon Pox, she had not yet decided. The thought that the _Prophet_ or the _Quibbler_ would not accept her proposal did not even cross her mind; she was, after all, Hermione Granger.

Hermione headed to the mailroom to the cages that housed Balthazar, Jurrah, Gordon, and Persephone, the fourth floor owls. She tied her letters to Balthazar, a brown owl who was by far her favourite and ruffled his feathers before heading toward her next appointment for the day. Balthazar puffed out his chest in pride at being chosen to deliver a letter and swooped out of the Owlery in a way that would have made the other three owls roll their eyes, were that a common trait that owls did. Instead Persephone hooted twice and began cleaning her feathers as if nothing had happened.

“What do we have now?” asked Hermione eagerly as she and Amy sanitised their hands.

“Lisette Bourdon, remember her?” Amy asked somberly.

“Twelve year old muggleborn girl with the burns from a Death Eater attack. Curse was delivered by a faulty wand. Have not found a counter curse, but have found a temporary spell to make the burns fade and take away the pain. She visits the hospital every two months,” Hermione recited; she had worked with Lisette during her HT (Healer Training) on a few occasions. “Loves painting,” Hermione added in as an afterthought.

The Healers opened the door to the patient room and were greeted by a smiling blond Lisette and her smiling blond parents.

“Bonjour, Healer Granger,” Lisette said happily.

“Bonjour Lisette, comment ça va aujourd’hui?” Hermione replied in somewhat rusty French.

This was what Hermione hated about being a Healer, seeing people like Lisette who would have to come to the hospital for the rest of her life; despite the fact that they had magic, not everything could be healed. What Hermione loved about being a Healer was encountering people who showed such courage and optimism in the face of a lifetime of pain or ostracism. Despite the fact that Lisette was not only tortured by a Death Eater, she would permanently pay the price of one person’s hatred, but Lisette still came to the hospital every time with a smile on her face.

“Très bien Healer Granger! L’école a commencé…” Lisette began rambling about school while Hermione carefully waved her wand near Lisette’s face. Lisette, used to this procedure, sat still, but continued to gush about how much she loved Hogwarts and how much her English had improved in the past year.

x-x-x

Above the crowd of Healers pressing in on Hermione hung a banner that dispensed confetti every five minutes or so. It read: “Welcome to the team!” Hermione eyed the packed staff lounge with distaste. She retreated toward her little corner of heaven engulfed by the overwhelming hell of too many people. She smoothed down the plain black dress that she had brought for this exact occasion as she navigated her way through the babbling inferno of Healers.

Hermione remarked angrily that someone had not returned _A Summer in the Doctor’s Arms_ to its correct place on the bookshelf. _I bet it was Avery, the Muggle-hating devil_. _I wonder what spell Madam Pince used to make the books return to their proper shelves…_ Hermione thought. She flicked her wand setting an alarm to remind herself to owl her old librarian (and arch nemesis/secret idol).  She picked up the sappy romance novel and moved to place it in the fiction section when a voice cut her off.

“Didn’t peg you for a romantic, Granger,” remarked Draco Malfoy who also seemed to be retreating from the impressive amount of professionals crammed into the large staff room ( _I wonder who is on shift right now missing this party_ , Hermione thought absentmindedly).

“Didn’t know you could read, Malfoy,” Hermione retorted. Even though they were more civil due to their necessity to work with one another and their mutual friend who insisted that the three of them sit together at lunch, Hermione still could not stand more than three minutes in Draco Malfoy’s presence. She mentally started counting down the seconds.

“You complete lack of wit hurts me more than your lackluster insult. Seriously Granger, were you even educated on the art of rhetoric?” Malfoy asked and Hermione could have sworn that he had pointed his nose slightly further up in the air, if that were possible. _30 seconds down._

“Were you?” she retorted.

“Of course,” Draco replied, offended, “all Malfoys are.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he continued, smirking, “it’s what we –”

“Purebloods do?” Hermione interjected angrily. _That only took 45 seconds._

“No, what I was going to-”

“Seriously Malfoy,” Hermione continued without waiting to hear his response, “I can’t believe you got hired, you haven’t changed your backwards ideas. Harry should have never testified for you, you haven’t changed one bit; all you care about is blood purity!” Hermione ranted, becoming flustered with rage.

“I was going to say-” Draco tried to interrupt again, to no avail.

“For all you know I was trained in rhetoric, but if that would have made me as much of a pompous ass as you are, then I am glad that I wasn’t!” Hermione huffed.

“I was going to say,” Draco interrupted loudly, “it’s what we ‘backwards’ purebloods do for fun.” Hermione stared at him blankly, not understanding. “It’s a joke,” Draco clarified. “Honestly, I try to be friendly and I am accosted by a witless wonder.”

“Witless wonder?” Hermione said indignantly.

“I’m sorry I even started this conversation, Granger. I’ll go find another corner to wait in until Mack decides that he can leave.” Draco began to walk away.

“Why are you waiting for Ernie?” Hermione asked to his retreating back, refusing to call Ernie by the ridiculous nickname that Draco had concocted.

“Why do you care?” Draco asked as he turned around.

“He’s my friend too.” Draco did not respond, so Hermione added, “I thought that Ernie lived alone.”

Draco cracked a smile at the thought of himself and Mack living in the same apartment. Now _that_ would be something. “He does,” was all that Draco said, preferring to see Hermione fight between her curiosity and her hatred for Draco.

“Well…?” Hermione demanded.

“Well,” Draco responded.

Hermione stared at him pointedly, then asked loudly, making a few heads turn in their direction, “Why are you waiting for him!”

“Take a potion, Granger. Mack’s planning on having a few firewhiskeys tonight and I said that I would get him home alright. You know Mack, he can’t hold his alcohol.”

Hermione was taken aback and did not know how to respond. The thought that Malfoy actually cared about Ernie’s well-being seemed suspect. And for that matter, why did he even come over to talk to her at all when they avoided speech at almost all costs? Not to mention the fact that he had _joked_ with her earlier. _Draco Malfoy_. Joking. With Hermione Granger. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“What, you don’t believe me, Granger? Is that big old brain of yours thinking of what my ulterior motives are?” Draco asked sarcastically. He approached her as he continued, “Why did I become a Healer in the first place, why did I choose St Mungo’s? Why am I here, right now, talking to you?” As he asked the last question he was less than an arms-length away from Hermione who did indeed seem to be asking herself these questions, for the _n_ th time.

“And what are you answers, Malfoy?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged and sat down in the chair in front of the bookshelf.

Hermione replaced _A Summer in the Doctor’s Arms_ to its proper place in the fiction section and sat down in purple armchair opposite of Draco. She glanced at his immaculate black suit paired with a white skinny tie and his styled hair. It was then that Hermione realised that Draco never spoke to anyone aside from Ernie, and he must have felt completely out of place at this party full of somewhat tipsy and all too cheerful colleagues who wished that he had not been accepted into nor hired at St. Mungo’s, let alone survived the war.

Hermione was about to apologise for her antagonism earlier when Draco said quietly from his place across from her, without making eye contact, “Listen,” he paused and glanced at her, looked back at the party just as Mack popped a bottle of champagne then looked back at Hermione, “I’m sorry.”

“Malfoy, it’s fine, you were joking, although you’re not that funny-” Hermione excused him, wanting to go back to their awkward silent treatment that they gave one another in lieu of addressing their past.

“No,” he paused, then looked at her again and Hermione noticed how grey his eyes were, “I’m sorry.”

In a split second Hermione revisited all the cruel things that Draco Malfoy had said and done to her. Hermione laughed. She didn’t mean to, but did he honestly think that saying ‘sorry’ would forgive him for years of bullying or excuse the fact that his actions resulted in the death of Dumbledore, that he just _stood there_ while she was being tortured? And she asked him just that, leaving out her encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange because, even after all these years, she was not yet ready to talk about it.

Draco smiled sadly at her, then replied, “You’re right. It doesn’t excuse anything, I just figured I should let you know.” Draco moved to leave Hermione again.

“Well actions speak louder than words,” _and you just stood there._

Draco sat back down, holding Hermione’s eye contact. “Know that I am choosing to sit beside you then, even though your terrible sense of style looks like it may be contagious and your utter lack of social skills are worse than a Giant’s,” he said while eyeing her plain dress, however, it was said with a slight smile.

Hermione smiled faintly, remembering Grawp and wishing that Ron and Harry were there. _Stupid healer-only party._

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy sat watching the crowd of Healers in front of them counting down the minutes until they could leave.

x-x-x

            Hermione supported Ernie on his left side while Draco held onto his right as the three staggered down the foggy empty London streets. Hermione huffed in frustration as Ernie sang the Hogwarts song— _Hoggy Warty Hogwarts!—_ into her ear and terribly off key.

            “This is why I do not drink,” she commented under her breath.

Ernie stopped his song and said, “Hermione, you should have a drink! Let’s go out for drinks! On me!” He picked up where he left off in the Hogwarts anthem, seeming to forget his last proclamation.

Draco rolled his eyes and thanked the gods that he did not believe in that they had finally reached Ernie’s flat. _At least he lives on the first floor_ , Draco thought, shuddering at the idea of having to haul him up a staircase.

“Do you have your keys Ernie?” Hermione asked patiently.

Draco, on the other hand, was no longer patient. “Where are your keys, you tosser?”

“Malfoy!” Hermione scolded, but quickly cut herself off when Ernie’s keys were suddenly pushed into her face. Hermione took them silently, still glaring at Draco, and let the three of them stumble into Ernie’s surprisingly messy flat. Hermione had only ever been there once, and had never actually entered the building. It really was nothing special, except that while Hermione and Draco were unceremoniously dumping Ernie onto the couch, Hermione noticed that extravagantly large television screen that Ernie had rigged up in front of his luscious deep purple sofa.

“Well, good night, Ernie. I’m casting a recovery position charm on you so that you don’t choke on your own vomit, you can thank me tomorrow morning when you wake up, _alive_ ,” Ernie was asleep before Hermione finished speaking.

“You now see why I had to wait around for him, Granger?” Draco asked as the two of them left Ernie’s apartment, locking the door with a wave of Draco’s wand ( _He really should be more cautious, a Muggle could have been looking_ ).

“Touché, Malfoy. Thanks for your help tonight,” Hermione said sincerely. She began walking toward her flat and went to call good night over her shoulder to Draco only to jump back two feet screaming because he was directly behind her.

“Oh calm down, Granger. I live in the same area as you,” Draco rolled his eyes at her dramatics.

“How do you know that?” She demanded, suspicious once again.

“Because I see you every morning, you dolt.” Draco realised his error and corrected himself: “No, not like—I don’t stalk you!”

“I don’t know Malfoy, you do seem kind of guilty,” Hermione teased noticing the faint blush on his cheeks. “If you know where I live how come I’ve never seen you before?”

“Because I don’t go parading around like you do. Believe it or not, Malfoy is not a well-liked name, even if we are in Muggle London,” Malfoy admitted quietly.

“Oh.”

“People don’t cram themselves into my office to welcome me to the team; they avoid my presence at all costs and try to forget that I exist.”

Hermione was silent after this honest confession from Malfoy. In the three years that she ate lunch with him he never spoke about how people treated him after the war. In fact, he never really spoke at all. Today was the most interaction she had had with him since she saw him on day one of HT, _and wasn’t that a disaster_. She thought back to the staff welcome party and realised that she did not once see Draco interacting with anyone aside from herself and Ernie. That sea of friendly faces must have seemed so hostile to Draco.

“Why Muggle London?” she asked after a few minutes of awkward silence as they continued down the foggy lamp lit street.

“Less people who know me. Less possibility of an…” Draco did not seem to want to finish his sentence. In fact, he stopped walking. Hermione looked back at him confused. “This is you,” Draco pointed out.

“Oh,” Hermione astutely responded. “Well,” there was another awkward silence, “goodnight.”

“Good night, Granger.”

Draco was quickly swallowed by the London mist. Hermione stared after him digesting this new information. She had never thought about his life really. All she could ever think about when she saw him was— _No_. She was in a good place, and she would not think about that time and ruin all of the progress that she had made. _Innocent victim or not, Draco Malfoy was still a git_. Hermione unlocked the main door to her building with a flick of her wand, after assuring that no one was looking, and tromped up the three flights of stairs to her flat.


	3. Heaven, Hell, and Somewhere in Bewteen

# Chapter Two: Heaven, Hell, and Somewhere in Between

            It was not until Hermione was standing in the HIT (Healer in Training) lunchroom armed with her beaded bag trying to find her usual lunch partner that she remembered that she now had access to the Healer staff lounge on the opposite end of the fifth floor. The spacious and much coveted Healer staff room with Hogwarts-esque chairs and floating trays of pumpkin pasties and ever-hot tea pots with too many choices of tea to choose from, not to mention the small library in the back corner of fiction and non-fiction medical books. Rumour had it that there were even some Muggle books crammed onto the overpopulated shelves. Another rumour had it that Terrance Avery, a known relative of the famous Death Eater Tom Avery, could been seen from time to time spiriting away a copy of said Muggle books, or so Amy claimed.

            Hermione waved her wand in front of the door in a circular motion and the door swung open for her. Hermione thought that the Healer staff room would be just like the HIT lunch room or the general public’s tea room; table and chairs, a sink, a fridge, some counter space and a lot of old magazines, plus, of course, the touted bookcase. She figured that the overblown stories that Amy told her were just that; stories. For once, she was happy to be wrong.

Let’s just say that there was not just one, but several crystal chandeliers hanging from the magically augmented ceilings. While the rest of the building was concrete, this room appeared to be made out of marble and had two large walls of cathedral style windows letting in the gloomy light from the rainstorm still taking place outside. In front of the windows ran two large purple couches. A large fireplace with a black mantle dominated the third wall and was surrounded by small tables and several chairs that Hermione believed were actually stolen from Hogwarts ( _Was that a crest in the bottom corner?_ ) they looked so identical and comfortable. A few mahogany dining tables filled in the part of the room closet to the –Hermione did a double take—there was a mini kitchen! Seriously; an oven, a sink, a large fridge, a microwave ( _How on earth did they get a microwave to work with all of this magic floating in the air?_ ), a coffee machine, an espresso machine, a kettle, several cupboards with glass doors revealing hundreds of tea cups and different types of tea. And in the far corner, _the_ bookcase. Hermione nearly fainted.

            “There you are!” exclaimed Ernie Macmillan walking over to Hermione with a smile on his face. Ernie was a stout sandy blond Hufflepuff prefect from Hermione’s year at Hogwarts who, despite his overwhelming pompousness, was generally an alright guy. Ernie specialised in Magical Maladies and their vaccination.

            “I…I…” She babbled still trying to comprehend the overwhelming marvelousness of the staff room. A floating tray bumped into her arm, poured her a strong cup of tea with one milk and nudged itself at her until she took a precautious sip. “It’s the perfect temperature,” she said shakily. She set the tea cup back onto the floating tray.

            Ernie smiled and lead her over to an armchair near the roaring fire. “I know.”

            They both stared at each other for a moment in wonder, then broke out laughing. “This is amazing!” The two exclaimed at the same time.

            “I just can’t believe the book case. It’s more magnificent than I could have imagined. Amy said it was only two bookshelves, but there are at least six!” she babbled excitedly. “And look how overflowing they are—”

            “Bet that drives you nutters, Granger.”

            “Well, yes actually, in fact, with a simple extension charm I should be able to—” Hermione realised suddenly that it was not from Ernie that the preceding statement had come. She looked up at Draco Malfoy who was towering above her with a smirk on his face.

            Draco Malfoy: tall, short messy bleach blond hair—but longer than it was in school—, pale as a vampire, thin (but who knows how he really looked under all those robes?—not that Hermione had ever imagined that before), pointed noise, and white robes that somehow flattered his frame; ex-bully, ex-Death Eater, current who-gives-a-shit-about-that-asshole-anymore, and now fully licenced Healer specialised in injuries caused by potions; Draco Malfoy.

Draco quickly moved out of her line of vision and sat down in the armchair closest to the fire and to Ernie, Mack, as he called him—dare I say it—affectionately. Hermione looked back at the book case trying to not let Draco’s appearance sour her mood. He usually didn’t even acknowledge her presence, _Odd_.

“Yes, with a simple extension charm the books would all fit on the shelf. Then I could organise them by subject and author…” Hermione trailed off thinking about the best way to sort the books and was halfway through an undetectable extension charm before she realised that she had left her seat.

            Mack was chuckling from his probably-stolen-from-Hogwarts luxury armchair near the fire. Hermione looked back at him briefly before returning her attention to the tragedy of a book case before her. In less than three minutes every book had a place on the shelf and each section was labelled for easy retrieval. Amy was right, there were several Muggle books, and, Hermione noted, they were all sappy romance novels centred on hospitals. She made a note to donate some older books from her personal collection that she already had more than one copy of. Hermione opened her beaded bag and _accioed_ her roast beef sandwich and pumpkin pasties from the unending depths. She grabbed a book at random and headed over to the long couch in front of the window. Too absorbed in the first few pages of _Most Common Magical Maladies and How To Prevent Them_ by Glenda Wiggins to notice the many plush pillows lining the ten foot couch nor the various throw blankets. She also did not notice Ernie and Draco talking about her a few feet away.

“Honestly when that woman’s reading she wouldn’t even notice if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose from the dead and was parading around naked,” chuckled Ernie.

Draco scrunched his face at the image of the Dark Lord naked, _did he even have genitals?_ “Some people never change, Mack,” Draco stated glancing at Hermione’s back, neck bent over her book intently.

Ernie looked back at Draco intensely for a moment. “And some people do,” he said firmly. Ernie then changed his tone and asked how Draco’s morning was. Draco grunted in response. “Hermione is too busy reading a book to notice my presence and you refuse to talk to me. I need to make new friends,” Ernie sulked. He poured himself another glass of tea and began eating some of the cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches that were also floating around the room on trays.

He sighed in content and watched Draco primly prepare himself a cup of steaming earl grey tea, black, as usual. Ernie relaxed into the couch, extremely happy that he was finally allowed in the Healer staff lounge, and, he decided, he was never going to leave.

x-x-x

            Hermione’s wand alarm jerked her out of her reading about Spattergroit and how it was more common than most people thought—always wash your elbows! She flicked open her pocket watch and saw that it had already been a full hour. Hermione quickly looked around her and noticed that Ernie (surprisingly) and Draco (thankfully) were nowhere in sight. She scampered to her feet replacing the book to its new found home and rushing to the staff elevator to her next appointment for the day. She was decidedly looking forward to her time as a Healer at St Mungo’s.

x-x-x

            Having a few spare minutes between appointments, Hermione could be found at her desk writing a letter to the editor of _The_ _Daily Prophet_ , Lavender Brown, and _The Quibbler_ , Luna Lovegood. Although Hermione would be seeing them both that Friday, she wanted communication for this particular project of hers to be official seeing as she was going to represent the hospital itself.

            _To the editor in chief,_

_I am writing this letter to inform you of my interest in pioneering an educational medical column on behalf of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on a bi-monthly basis. This column would include helpful tidbits of information about spells and potions that can eliminate visits to the hospital as well as keep the wizarding populace up to date on any and all new developments and inventions within the medical community. I would also be interested in sharing information about Muggle medicine as I feel knowledge is an important step in acceptance of the Muggle community within the wizarding one. This column would be free of charge on behalf of St Mungo’s Hospital._

_I hope to hear from you soon,_

_Hermione Granger_

            Hermione was very excited about the idea of becoming a columnist. She was somewhat surprised when Amy told her that Bonham had approved her proposal shortly after leaving Hermione’s office earlier that morning. Unfortunately she would not be compensated for her new creative pursuits, but knowing that she was helping people was enough for Hermione (not to mention the fact that the Ministry had paid herself, Ron, and Harry more than enough money to live happily for the rest of their lives and that people oftentimes refused to charge her, citing her as a hero of the magical world). Hermione already had a few ideas for her first article; it would either include diagrams on spells to heal bruises or information about Dragon Pox, she had not yet decided. The thought that the _Prophet_ or the _Quibbler_ would not accept her proposal did not even cross her mind; she was, after all, Hermione Granger.

Hermione headed to the mailroom to the cages that housed Balthazar, Jurrah, Gordon, and Persephone, the fourth floor owls. She tied her letters to Balthazar, a brown owl who was by far her favourite and ruffled his feathers before heading toward her next appointment for the day. Balthazar puffed out his chest in pride at being chosen to deliver a letter and swooped out of the Owlery in a way that would have made the other three owls roll their eyes, were that a common trait that owls did. Instead Persephone hooted twice and began cleaning her feathers as if nothing had happened.

“What do we have now?” asked Hermione eagerly as she and Amy sanitised their hands.

“Lisette Bourdon, remember her?” Amy asked somberly.

“Twelve year old muggleborn girl with the burns from a Death Eater attack. Curse was delivered by a faulty wand. Have not found a counter curse, but have found a temporary spell to make the burns fade and take away the pain. She visits the hospital every two months,” Hermione recited; she had worked with Lisette during her HIT (Healer Training) on a few occasions. “Loves painting,” Hermione added in as an afterthought.

The Healers opened the door to the patient room and were greeted by a smiling blond Lisette and her smiling blond parents.

“Bonjour, Healer Granger,” Lisette said happily.

“Bonjour Lisette, comment ça va aujourd’hui?” Hermione replied in somewhat rusty French.

This was what Hermione hated about being a Healer, seeing people like Lisette who would have to come to the hospital for the rest of her life; despite the fact that they had magic, not everything could be healed. What Hermione loved about being a Healer was encountering people who showed such courage and optimism in the face of a lifetime of pain or ostracism. Despite the fact that Lisette was not only tortured by a Death Eater, she would permanently pay the price of one person’s hatred, but Lisette still came to the hospital every time with a smile on her face.

“Très bien Healer Granger! L’école a commencé…” Lisette began rambling about school while Hermione carefully waved her wand near Lisette’s face. Lisette, used to this procedure, sat still, but continued to gush about how much she loved Hogwarts and how much her English had improved in the past year.

x-x-x

Above the crowd of Healers pressing in on Hermione hung a banner that dispensed confetti into Hermione’s curls every five minutes or so—that was never coming out. It read: “Welcome to the team!” Hermione eyed the packed staff lounge with distaste. She retreated toward her little corner of heaven engulfed by the overwhelming hell of too many people. She smoothed down the plain black dress that she had brought for this exact occasion as she navigated her way through the babbling inferno of Healers.

Hermione remarked angrily that someone had not returned _A Summer in the Doctor’s Arms_ to its correct place on the bookshelf. _I bet it was Avery, the Muggle-hating devil_. _I wonder what spell Madam Pince used to make the books return to their proper shelves…_ Hermione thought. She flicked her wand setting an alarm to remind herself to owl her old librarian (and arch nemesis/secret idol).  She picked up the sappy romance novel and moved to place it in the fiction section when a voice cut her off.

“Didn’t peg you for a romantic, Granger,” remarked Draco Malfoy who also seemed to be retreating from the impressive amount of professionals crammed into the large staff room ( _I wonder who is on shift right now missing this party_ , Hermione thought absentmindedly).

“Didn’t know you could read, Malfoy,” Hermione retorted. Even though they were more civil due to their necessity to work with one another and their mutual friend who insisted that the three of them sit together at lunch, Hermione still could not stand more than three minutes in Draco Malfoy’s presence. She mentally started counting down the seconds.

“You complete lack of wit hurts me more than your lackluster insult. Seriously Granger, were you even educated on the art of rhetoric?” Malfoy asked and Hermione could have sworn that he had pointed his nose slightly further up in the air, if that were possible. _30 seconds down._

“Were you?” she threw back, somewhat incredulously.

“Of course,” Draco replied, offended, “all Malfoys are.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he continued, smirking, “it’s what we –”

“Purebloods do?” Hermione interjected angrily. _That only took 45 seconds._

“Well—”

“Seriously Malfoy,” Hermione continued without waiting to hear his response, “I can’t believe you got hired, you haven’t changed your backwards ideas. Harry should have never testified for you, you haven’t changed one bit; all you care about is blood purity!” Hermione ranted, becoming flustered with rage.

“I was going to say—” Draco tried to interrupt again, to no avail.

“For all you know I was trained in rhetoric, but if that would have made me as much of a pompous ass as you are, then I am glad that I wasn’t!” Hermione huffed.

“I was going to say,” Draco interrupted loudly, “it’s what we ‘backwards’ purebloods do for fun.” Hermione stared at him blankly, not understanding. “It’s a joke,” Draco clarified. “Honestly, I try to be friendly and I am accosted by a witless wonder.”

“Witless wonder?” Hermione replied indignantly.

“I’m sorry I even started this conversation, Granger. I’ll go find another corner to wait in until Mack decides that he can leave.” Draco began to walk away.

“Why are you waiting for Ernie?” Hermione asked to his retreating back, refusing to call Ernie by the ridiculous nickname that Draco had concocted.

“Why do you care?” Draco asked as he turned around.

“He’s my friend too.” Draco did not respond, so Hermione added, “I thought that Ernie lived alone.”

Draco cracked a smile at the thought of himself and Mack living in the same apartment. Now _that_ would be something. “He does,” was all that Draco said, preferring to see Hermione fight between her curiosity and her hatred for Draco.

“Well…?” Hermione demanded.

“Well,” Draco responded.

Hermione stared at him pointedly, then asked loudly, making a few heads turn in their direction, “Why are you waiting for him!”

“Take a potion, Granger. Mack’s planning on having a few firewhiskeys tonight and I said that I would get him home alright. You know Mack, he can’t hold his alcohol.”

Hermione was taken aback and did not know how to respond. The thought that Malfoy actually cared about Ernie’s well-being seemed suspect. And for that matter, why did he even come over to talk to her at all when they avoided speech at almost all costs? Not to mention the fact that he had _joked_ with her earlier. _Draco Malfoy_. Joking. With Hermione Granger.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“What, you don’t believe me, Granger? Is that big old brain of yours thinking of what my ulterior motives are?” Draco asked sarcastically. He approached her as he continued, “Why did I become a Healer in the first place? Why did I choose St Mungo’s? Why am I here, right now, talking to you?” As he asked the last question he was less than an arms-length away from Hermione who did indeed seem to be asking herself these questions, for the _n_ th time.

“And what are you answers, Malfoy?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged and sat down in the chair in front of the bookshelf.

Hermione replaced _A Summer in the Doctor’s Arms_ to its proper place in the fiction section and sat down in purple armchair opposite of Draco. She glanced at his immaculate black suit paired with a white skinny tie and his styled hair. It was then that Hermione realised that Draco never spoke to anyone aside from Ernie, and he must have felt completely out of place at this party full of somewhat tipsy and all too cheerful colleagues who wished that he had not been accepted into nor hired at St. Mungo’s, let alone survived the war.

Hermione was about to apologise for her antagonism earlier when Draco said quietly from his place across from her, without making eye contact, “Listen,” he paused and glanced at her then quickly looked back at the party just as Mack popped a bottle of champagne then looked back at Hermione, “I’m sorry.”

“Malfoy, it’s fine, you were joking, although you’re not that funny-” Hermione excused him, wanting to go back to their awkward silent treatment that they gave one another in lieu of addressing their past.

“No,” he paused, then looked at her again and Hermione noticed how grey his eyes were, “I’m sorry.”

In a split second Hermione revisited all the cruel things that Draco Malfoy had said and done to her. All the times she had cried herself to sleep because of the prat in front of him and his useless ‘friends’.

Hermione laughed. She didn’t mean to, but did he honestly think that saying ‘sorry’ would forgive him for years of bullying or excuse the fact that his actions resulted in the death of Dumbledore, that he just _stood there_ while she was being tortured? And she asked him just that, leaving out her encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange because, even after all these years, she was not yet ready to talk about it.

Draco smiled sadly at her, then replied, “You’re right. It doesn’t excuse anything, I just figured I should let you know.” Draco moved to leave Hermione again.

“Well actions speak louder than words,” _and you just stood there._

Draco sat back down, holding Hermione’s eye contact. “Know that I am choosing to sit beside you then, even though your terrible sense of style looks like it may be contagious and your utter lack of social skills are worse than a Giant’s, not to mention your usual crow’s nest is full to the brim with confetti,” he said while eyeing her plain dress and confetti-filled curls, however, it was said with a slight smile.

Hermione smiled faintly, remembering Grawp and wishing that Ron and Harry were there. _Stupid healer-only party._

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy sat in silence watching the crowd of healers in front of them counting down the minutes until they could leave.

x-x-x

            Hermione supported Ernie on his left side while Draco held onto his right as the three staggered down the foggy empty London streets. Hermione huffed in frustration as Ernie sang the Hogwarts song— _Hoggy Warty Hogwarts!—_ into her ear and terribly off key.

            “This is why I do not drink,” she commented under her breath.

Ernie stopped his song and said, “Hermione, you should have a drink! Let’s go out for drinks! On me!” He picked up where he left off in the Hogwarts anthem, seeming to forget his last proclamation.

Draco rolled his eyes and thanked the gods that he did not believe in that they had finally reached Ernie’s flat. _At least he lives on the first floor_ , Draco thought, shuddering at the idea of having to haul him up a staircase.

“Do you have your keys, Ernie?” Hermione asked patiently.

Draco, on the other hand, was no longer patient. “Where are your keys, you tosser?”

“Malfoy!” Hermione scolded, but quickly cut herself off when Ernie’s keys were suddenly pushed into her face. Hermione took them silently, still glaring at Draco, and let the three of them stumble into Ernie’s surprisingly messy flat. Hermione had only ever been there once, and had never actually entered the building. It really was nothing special, except that while Hermione and Draco were unceremoniously dumping Ernie onto the couch, Hermione noticed the extravagantly large television screen that Ernie had rigged up in front of his luscious deep purple sofa.

“Well, good night, Ernie. I’m casting a recovery position charm on you so that you don’t choke on your own vomit, you can thank me tomorrow morning when you wake up, _alive_ ,” Ernie was asleep before Hermione finished speaking.

“You now see why I had to wait around for him, Granger?” Draco asked as the two of them left Ernie’s apartment, locking the door with a wave of Draco’s wand ( _He really should be more cautious, a Muggle could have been looking_ ).

“Touché, Malfoy. Thanks for your help tonight,” Hermione said sincerely. She began walking toward her flat and went to call good night over her shoulder to Draco only to jump back two feet screaming because he was directly behind her.

“Oh calm down, Granger. I live in the same area as you,” Draco rolled his eyes at her dramatics.

“How do you know that?” She demanded, suspicious once again.

“Because I see you every morning, you dolt.” Draco realised his error and corrected himself: “No, not like—I don’t stalk you!”

“I don’t know Malfoy, you do seem kind of guilty,” Hermione teased noticing the faint blush on his cheeks. She then realised that she was teasing Draco Malfoy and quickly put an end to that. She continued in a more familiar tone of accusation, “If you know where I live how come I’ve never seen you before?”

“Because I don’t go parading around like you do. Believe it or not, Malfoy is not a well-liked name, even if we are in Muggle London,” Malfoy admitted quietly.

“Oh.”

“People don’t cram themselves into my office to welcome me to the team; they avoid my presence at all costs and try to forget that I exist.”

Hermione was silent after this honest confession from Malfoy. In the three years that she ate lunch with him he never spoke about how people treated him after the war. In fact, he never really spoke at all. Today was the most interaction she had had with him since she saw him on day one of HT, _and wasn’t that a disaster_. She thought back to the staff welcome party and realised that she did not once see Draco interacting with anyone aside from herself and Ernie. That sea of friendly faces must have seemed so hostile to Draco.

“Why Muggle London?” she asked after a few minutes of awkward silence as they continued down the foggy lamp lit street.

“Less people who know me. Less possibility of an…” Draco did not seem to want to finish his sentence. In fact, he stopped walking. Hermione looked back at him confused. “This is you,” Draco pointed out.

“Oh,” Hermione astutely responded. “Well,” there was another awkward silence, “goodnight.”

“Good night, Granger.”

Draco was quickly swallowed by the London mist. Hermione stared after him digesting this new information. She had never thought about his life really. All she could ever think about when she saw him was— _No_. She was in a good place, and she would not think about that time and ruin all of the progress that she had made. _Innocent victim or not, Draco Malfoy was still a git_. Hermione unlocked the main door to her building with a flick of her wand, after assuring that no one was looking, and tromped up the three flights of stairs to her flat.


	4. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner

# Chapter Three: Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner

            Hermione Granger was awoken by an annoying ringing that got louder and louder the longer she ignored it. She opened her eyes with a start and realised that her alarm was going off. She turned it off quickly blinked a few times, forgetting why she was awake. _What day was it?_ Then she remembered that she wanted to get up earlier so that she could explore the coffee shop run by Paul, her first patient from the previous morning. After a steaming shower, Hermione threw on an old pair of blue jeans and a light blue t-shirt and began making lunch. It was then that she remembered that heaven on earth did exist and it was called the Healer Staff Room and it often had lunch conveniently floating around on sparkling silver trays. She continued out the door, sans lunch, grabbing her white Healer robes on the way.

Once outside Hermione squinted into the unusually strong sunlight and began her short walk to St Mungo’s. She surreptitiously tried to locate Malfoy who claimed that he lived near her, but was only greeted by unfriendly business women and men hurrying to their dissatisfying day jobs. As Hermione walked past Ernie’s flat she paused for a moment. _What if my recovery position charm didn’t work?_ She worried. She changed directions and knocked on his door sharply.

“Ernie?” Hermione called when he did not answer. “ERNIE?!” She shouted, somewhat panicked. She wondered what locking charms he had put on his door and figured that she could probably break them. She has just pulled out her wand when the door swung open. She was greeted by her stalker himself.

“Quiet down will you, you’ll wake the whole neighbourhood. Have you ever dealt with an angry Muggle? Because I have.  And I need at least three teas in me before I would even consider it.” Malfoy said with a scowl on his face.

Hermione pushed past him ignoring him despite being intrigued by that story. “Ernie?” She tried again and almost jumped out of her skin when a freshly bathed Ernie MacMillan jumped into the door frame of his living room.

“Hermione!” Ernie gave her a hug. “Thank you so much for helping last night. Draco was just telling me that you refused to leave me alone with him, because who knows what he’ll do,” Ernie said rolling his eyes. “You have good intentions, Hermione, but you need to realise that Draco isn’t that much of a twat anymore, these days he’s just somewhat of a twat.”

“Thanks, Mack,” Draco intoned sarcastically, leaning on the living room door frame.

“Righto, I am ready to go. Shall we?” Ernie asked with a smile on his face. He lead the way outside and locked his door after Hermione and Draco had left. “So, what is the name of that coffee place that you were just talking about, Dray?” He asked as the three began to awkwardly walk down the narrow sidewalk. Hermione ended up walking behind the two.

“Do not call me that,” Draco said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Hermione had an uneasy feeling in her stomach when Ernie said ‘coffee shop’. She also catalogued the fact that Draco hated being called ‘Dray’ under ‘important’ in her brain to save for a later date.

“Sure thing, Dray. So this coffee shop. It’s where again?” Ernie asked with a smile.

Draco didn’t answer for a moment then responded clearly objecting to the use of the nickname, “Like I said, it’s across from St. Mungo’s.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Draco looked back at her, but said nothing. Apparently it was back to no talking directly to one another.

“Don’t tell me you hate this place, Hermione. We never get to eat breakfast together. Please just this once?” Ernie stopped walking and pouted at Hermione, then at Draco, then back at Hermione.

“Fine. But only because you said please. And not because you used that ridiculous pouty face that you seem to think people find irresistible!”

The rest of the walk to Paul’s coffee shop was spent with Ernie recounting what parts of the night he could remember—“did I kiss Bonham?!”—and Hermione re-stating how he needed to learn healthy drinking habits several times.

“Paul’s” was a small coffee shop nestled between two ten-storey boring office buildings, one called “Grunnings” specialised in drills. “Paul’s” coffe shop had a quaint sign on it in handwriting that read “Paul’s” with “coffee, tea and breakfast” written underneath in bold font. The two large windows in the front showed that the small store was packed with ill-disguised Healers (most didn’t even try and hide their white robes with the bold St. Mungo’s symbol of two crossed wands) and even more oblivious Muggles.

The unlikely threesome shouldered their way through the crowd and into the line-up. Hermione began reading the menu as the heavenly smell of eggs and bacon wafted over to her. Trying not to drool, she located the “Deluxe Breakfast” on the menu and knew what she was ordering. Ernie was still reading when Draco stepped forward and placed his order of toasted rye bread with butter and eggs and a large Earl Grey, black, to go, with the ease of someone who ordered the same thing every day. Hermione stared at him. Draco Malfoy lived in Muggle London. Lived near _her_ in _Muggle_ London, and frequented a _Muggle_ coffee shop. _Draco Malfoy_. She shook her head in wonder and did not realise that the teenager behind the cash was asking her for her order.

Hermione waited patiently for her food wondering if Paul was the type of business owner to work in his own shop or the type to leave other people to do the grunt work. He was nowhere in sight. She shrugged her shoulders and grabbed her massive plate of mouth-watering food and sat down across from Malfoy. They both began eating, quietly awaiting Ernie, who had still not finished placing his order. Sometimes Hermione wondered how she got herself into these situations. Eating at a Muggle coffee shop with Draco Malfoy and Ernie MacMillan. And the last time she checked pigs were not flying and hell had not frozen over. Remembering his confession from the other day, Hermione decided to try and not be so suspicious of everything that Malfoy did. Maybe he was just trying to nicer. Maybe he was trying to atone for his past mistakes. _And maybe I’m a hippogriff_ , she thought with a snort.

Draco looked up at her then, confused as to why she had snorted loudly and realised that she had been staring at him. He began to speak, but was cut off by Ernie loudly sliding into the only empty seat at their table.

“I cannot believe this menu! There are so many choices. Apparently the guy who owns this place, Paul, makes all the food himself!” Ernie exclaimed. He took a bite of his pancakes and groaned. “I _need_ this recipe!” He got out after loudly swallowing his pancake.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please Ernie, I already have to bear witness to Ron’s terrible eating habits, I really don’t want to add you to that list.”

“No one can match Weasley in his quest to disgust the universe with his lack of table manners. Even I noticed his ghastly chewing from across the Great Hall,” Malfoy added unexpectedly.

Despite herself, Hermione met his eyes and they shared a smile.

Although Hermione expected the meal to be unpleasant, it was like any other lunch in the HIT lunch room, mostly punctuated with Ernie and her chatting about new developments in medicine with Draco occasionally chiming in; it was not unpleasant. As they crossed the street to St. Mungo’s Hermione realised that Draco was no longer among them. Content to continue on, she was stopped by Ernie.

“When are you going to quit that, Draco? I never should have introduced you to smoking,” Ernie shouted across the street to Draco who was standing outside of “Paul’s” with a smoking cigarette in hand.

Draco did not respond and Hermione gave him a faint smile before continuing into St. Mungo’s and powering her way to the staff lift. If she got there in time, she wouldn’t have to listen to Ernie complain about how unwelcoming she was to Draco all the time, blah, blah blah. She was blessedly alone as she made her way up to the fourth floor. Ernie was still outside talking to Draco who had joined him on the other side of the road.

“You’re the one that got me hooked on them, Mack. Whose fault is it really?” Draco asked sardonically.

Ernie rolled his eyes and changed the topic; “Breakfast was nice.”

“I told you, Paul is even better than my house elves were.”

“Why can’t you ever say more than two words to Hermione at a time? Seriously, making amends is never going to happen if you just sit around in silence,” Ernie said changing the topic completely, and might I add, very subtly.

“How many times do we have to discuss this, MacMillan? She hates me. She will never not hate me. And who can blame her?” Draco shrugged as if it didn’t bother him.

“Stop.” Ernie stated sternly. “You are trying to change. You made stupid decisions when there was little else that you could do. And now you’re making up for it. Stuff your little pity party. All I’m asking is that you be more obvious with the fact that you are trying to make amends.”

“Well I told her sorry yesterday.”

“You what?!” Ernie yelped as Draco stomped out his cigarette and walked into St. Mungo’s. Ernie followed him and they both avoided the Welcome Witch who seemed determined to get a greeting in return from them. Draco nudged a toddler with steam pouring from its ears into her path instead and the two were able to sneak by unscathed. “And you’re just telling me this now, because…”

“Because, she—it doesn’t matter,” Draco sulked as they stood in the staff lift listening to the bloody cheerful music.

Ernie waited a few seconds to see if Draco would continue without being prompted, but in the end he had to ask: “Because she… what?”

Draco was silent. He looked at the ground as he confessed under his breath, “Because she laughed at me.” Ernie was silent, unsure of what to say. “I said I was sorry and she laughed,” Draco said again, a hint of anger tinting his voice. “Does she not understand how much it took for me to say that? To look her in the eyes, knowing, knowing everything that _I_ have done to her. That my _family_ has done to her? That happened during the war, and even before…And she… laughed.”

Ernie went to say something but the lift doors opened onto the third floor and Draco fled to his small office and locked the door before Ernie had even taken three steps. _Well then._ Ernie wandered over to his own office on the opposite end of the floor from Draco’s, smiling at everyone he passed and pondering Hermione Granger’s reaction and Draco Malfoy’s feelings. Now that was something that the former Hufflepuff never thought he would be concerned about. Life was full of surprises. Ernie’s head hurt, and not just from drinking copious amounts of firewhisky the night before (although, that didn’t help much).

x-x-x

Despite seeing the Healer Staff Room not only once, but twice, the preceding day, Draco Malfoy still found that it had not lost its charm. He remembered seeing Hermione’s look of awe when she had first walked into the room and imagined that that was how his face would have looked if he ever revealed his emotions. He grabbed a cucumber avocado sandwich from one of the nearby floating trays and a steaming Earl Grey tea. He summoned the book from his office and took a seat in one of the Hogwarts chairs ( _that was definitely a crest in the bottom corner_ ) in the far corner by the large window. With the sun streaming down on his face, he read.

Draco Malfoy, unlike Hermione Granger, was always well aware of his environment around him while reading. However, Draco Malfoy, unlike Hermione Granger, was good at masking any sort of emotion from his face. So when Hermione Granger sat down on the long couch beside his stolen Hogwarts armchair ( _seriously, how did they get away with that one? They had to have had inside help…_ Draco suspected Peeves), he feigned ignorance. From the corner of his eye he noted that she was holding a large book in front of her and eating one of the delicious sandwiches provided by the room. Which had him wondering—

“Who makes these?” Hermione stated after taking a large bite of her sandwich.

Draco looked up at her then, somewhat confused. He glanced around and realised that she was in fact addressing him and not someone else in their general vicinity. Which was odd because Mack was nowhere in sight. “Er…” he astutely commented.

“I hope that it’s not House Elves. I mean, I know I did get that law passed last year,” she said proudly, “but the wizarding community is just so hard to change. Honestly, how difficult is it to provide workers with decent wages and proper beds and clothing?” Hermione harrumphed, talking more to herself than Draco.

Draco recalled seeing her campaigning in the hospital lobby last year asking for signatures from every passerby. He also remembered her gushing to Mack about the fact that Bill C s224.b was passed. He even remembered her mentioning a celebration party chez the Weasley clan. But what he remembered most of all was his lack of an invite despite the fact that he had indeed signed her damn petition. _Fucking Granger._

“I’m going to send a memo to Healer Bonham to make sure that we’re not benefitting from the exploitation of helpless creatures,” Hermione pulled out a small note book from her breast pocket and summoned a quill. She dashed off her note and Draco watched as it whizzed away.

He took a bite of his sandwich, unsure of what to say. Hermione watched him with narrowed eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

Draco swallowed and looked her in the eyes as he asked: “Is there a problem, Granger?”

She pointedly looked at the sandwich that was once again headed toward his mouth.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he exclaimed.

“So you think that it is perfectly acceptable to exploit others, Malfoy?” Hermione demanded scathingly. “Figures,” she spat out.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I didn’t bring a lunch, Granger.”

“Neither did I!”

Draco stared her down for a moment. It was only because he remembered his promise to Mack to be nicer to Granger that he lowered his sandwich. “I hope you’re happy,” he said rudely.

Hermione smiled brightly and jumped up from her seat. “I am.” She began to walk toward the door. She stopped suddenly, then looked round for Draco. “Well…”

“Well, what?” he asked, not nicely. In his defense, he was hungry.

“I’m going to ‘Paul’s’.”

“Enjoy.”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “And you say that I have no social skills.”

“I’m proud that you are finally able to admit it, the first step is—”

“Would you like to join me?” Hermione cut him off, not believing that those words would ever pass her mouth in regards to Draco Malfoy.

“Where’s Mack?” Draco responded, distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of spending more time alone with Hermione Granger.

“He sent me a memo saying that he was sick,” Hermione explained, confused that Draco had not received one. “Did he not send you one?” she asked after a pause.

“I have not been in my office since this morning, there was a thing…” Draco trailed off quietly. Everything about him was a lot quieter than what Hermione remembered from their time together at Hogwarts.

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well… I’m going to _‘_ ‘Paul’s’ _’_ where I can eat food that is not from slave labour. Feel free to join me.”

Draco watched her leave. Once she was gone he realised that he should have followed her and jogged to catch the lift before she left. What followed was a very awkward silent trip over to “Paul’s”. _Thank Merlin for elevator music_.

After ordering and sitting down, the awkward silence continued. Draco debated with himself whether or not he could to continue to read his book on the lasting effects of the _Cruciatus_ curse without seeming discourteous. Then Hermione summoned _Most Common Magical Maladies and how to Prevent Them_ by Glenda Wiggins beneath the table (so as not to be seen by Muggles) and began to read it while digging into her eggs and toast. Draco, unsurprised by her complete lack of social skills, ( _two points Draco, zero Granger_ ), opened his own book without hesitation and the unlikely duo ignored one another’s existence for the next forty five minutes.

x-x-x

Hermione buttoned up her fall coat and grabbed her beaded bag. Her feet ached from another long day at the hospital. She stepped onto her balcony so that she could apparate (her flat had an anti-apparition charm cast on it, except for her balcony) to the Burrow. Once there, she made her way past a few loose chickens and shifty looking garden gnomes. She walked in through the side door, declaring her presence loudly. She was greeted by Mrs. Weasley a few moments later.

“Hermione, dear!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed happily. She gave her a one armed hug; she was holding a mixing bowl that was stirring itself in the other, and said “The boys are upstairs in the twins’ room.” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes fogged over for a minute as she remembered that only one twin used that room anymore.

Hermione whispered a thank you and edged out of the room awkwardly. She navigated her way through the haphazard living room and climbed the rickety and creaking staircase to George’s room. She knocked once, in the usual secret knock—two fast, two slow, one fast—and headed in.

Everyone chorused their hellos as Hermione gave them all a quick hug. She installed herself between Harry and George who were fervently discussing Quidditch. Ginny and Ron were talking about a mistake that Ron had made recently; he had gone out on a date with someone that Ginny disapproved of, Hermione gathered. Hermione grinned, forgetting her sore feet and the proposal that she was working on for the “Miracle Squad”; being around her friends made her so much happier.

After the usual extravagant Weasley dinner, they ate a delicious cake that Mrs. Weasley had made (it had enchanted chocolate fountains streaming down the sides—it was times like these that Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she was a witch), Hermione brought up Draco’s apology to her. Still unsure of how she felt about it herself, she was curious to see what her friend’s made of it.

“Are you joking!?” Ginny and Ron demanded at the same time.

“Wow,” Harry said, looking surprised.

George remained silent with a perplexed look on his face.

“What did he say exactly?” Harry asked.

“Something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry for everything’. It was right after I blew up at him, perhaps unjustly, since it turns out he was joking,” Hermione recounted.

“Does he actually think that saying ‘I’m sorry’ excuses him for anything?” Ginny asked, incredulous.

“He was joking with you?” demanded Harry.

“‘I’m sorry’ won’t bring Dumbledore back,” Ron said angrily. “It won’t get rid of your scars. It won’t erase the sounds of your screams from my mind—”

“Ron!” George said sternly, looking at Hermione whose face had darkened.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly ashamed.

“I’m not entirely surprised,” reasoned Harry, “I mean, we all know that he didn’t actually want to kill Dumbledore. Hell, Dumbledore said it himself. And he didn’t tell Bellatrix who we were at his house, even though he knew. I mean, it was pretty obvious that his heart was not in it from the get go.” Everyone stared at him dumbstruck. “Don’t get me wrong,” Harry added quickly, “He was, and maybe still is, a blood prejudice git. I mean, he was calling you the m-word since second year, Hermione. But, I mean. He was just a stupid spoiled kid taught all the wrong things.” Once Harry finished speaking all that met him was silence. He looked into his friends’ eyes and added with a shrug, “Plus his mum saved my life.”

Everyone agreed that sans Narcissa Malfoy Voldemort would still be at large and Harry would be dead. After Harry mentioned this, the tension seemed to ease out of the air.

“Maybe he was being serious,” Ginny pondered aloud.

“Well don’t you usually eat lunch with him and that Hufflepuff?” Ron questioned.

“ _That Hufflepuff_ is Ernie MacMillan Ronald, please try and remember his name. He did fight beside us during the final battle. He and many other Hufflepuffs put their lives on the line that day, just like all of us here,” Hermione said harshly.

“Wonder whatever happened to Malfoy’s old gang,” George commented out of the blue.

“They all hang out at the _Leaky Cauldron_ Friday nights, like us,” Ginny said.

“Not all of them: Goyle died, the stupid oaf. Parkinson… I think she went to France for a while…” Ron said.

“I heard Romania,” said Ginny. “I always see Zabini at the _Leaky_ what happened to him during the war?”

“I heard his mother got married another three times since,” George said with a smile.

“He never declared a side, did he?” questioned Ginny.

“Nope, neither did Parkinson,” Harry added. “And then there’s that Theodore Nott fellow, quiet, works at the Ministry.”

“Who?” asked Ron.

“I feel kind of bad for Malfoy,” Hermione admitted, cutting off Ron’s inquiry. “I mean, he lives in Muggle London.” This statement was meant with a few exclamations, “I think it’s because if he lived in a wizarding area he would be harassed. And he was saying that everyone on the third floor at St. Mungo’s pretends that he doesn’t exist. I don’t know, it must be lonely.”

“Well, at least he’s friend’s with that—er—Ernie.” Ron said.

“Yeah… It’s odd, the past three years he has never been rude or once mentioned the war. Maybe he is changing…” Hermione said slowly. “He’s never really been nice either, though…”

“Changing or not, he’s still a pale git,” stated George. He was greeted by laughter all around.

“Enough about the ferret! Hermione did you hear that I’m going to be the Harpies captain for next season?” Ginny asked proudly.

“That’s amazing, Gin! Congrats!”

“Speaking of games, last week you all promised that we’d play Exploding Snap this week. And since it is in fact this week, are you all ready to be destroyed?” asked Ginny.

As her friends cleared space for a game that she, to be frank, had no patience for, Hermione thought more about Malfoy’s changed behaviour. Then she thought about how pleasant her lunch had been today, the two of them sharing the silent pleasure of reading about medicine. Hermione hadn’t realised how much of a constant presence Draco was in her life (she blamed Ernie) whether she wanted him there or not. Draco wasn’t all that bad, if today was any indication. Her mind wondered to her proposal for the Miracle Squad again and she began drafting what it would say while pretending to pay attention to Exploding Snap—she had been eliminated during the first round, along with one of her eyebrows. She could not wait until tomorrow: Thursday was her favourite day.


End file.
